


Like a Bad Dream

by TheWhiteLily



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017 [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteLily/pseuds/TheWhiteLily
Summary: John wakes up and sees the world news.





	Like a Bad Dream

**Author's Note:**

> JWP #18: Dr. Watson, Meet Dr. Freud. (Have a real-life celebrity of whichever timeline you choose make a cameo.)

“He’s won?” breathed John, staring at the news on his mobile, appalled. He ran for the TV to flick it on; his heart sank as he watched the confirmation on screen. “Sherlock, he _won_!”

“What?” Sherlock looked up from his honey on toast to stare intently at the man on the television for a moment, then at the scrolling text surrounding him. He shook his head. “Ridiculous. That man couldn’t be elected as US President. Obviously unsuitable. Just look at his hands.”

“Well, he _has_ been!” said John, half-hysterically. “Christ, we’re all going to die, aren’t we? Someone’s going to annoy him, and he’s going to press the red button and blow up the planet! First Brexit, now _this_!”

“ _Brexit_?” asked Sherlock, carefully forming the unfamiliar word.

John made a frustrated noise. “You _know_ , Sherlock! When just over _half_ of Britain, apparently not including anyone who’ll actually admit to it after the fact, voted for us to leave the European Union!”

Sherlock frowned and shook his head again. “No, you’ve got something mixed up. Mycroft wouldn’t have stood for that. You’ve obviously been caught up by one of those fake news sites again. Like that time you believed the story about the llama and the—”

“Mycroft didn’t exactly have a _choice_ , Sherlock!” John interrupted, aware that going down the path of being twitted about _that_ again was about the only thing that could make the morning worse. “And I’m pretty damn sure of it, you spectacularly ignorant idiot! It was all over everywhere, and certainly David Cameron believed it!”

“Who?”

“Oh, for _fuck’s sa—_ ”

John sat up in bed, the scream still on his lips, the familiar walls of his room at 221B Baker Street dark and comforting around him. He rose and padded to the next room to check on Rosie, and then looked up the overnight news on his phone.

Slumping with relief at the headlines he did not find, he googled ‘brexit’, too: nothing.

Thank _God_.

It had seemed so real—but perhaps that was the whole point. It was.

And John Watson had never been so glad to be in a story in his life.


End file.
